


Tension

by sundogsandrainbows



Series: Lenyaverse: Sidestories [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Alistair (Dragon Age), Awkward Boners, Awkwardness, Banter, Companionable Snark, Emotional Intimacy, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Lenyaverse, Massage, One Shot, Or Is It?, POV Alistair (Dragon Age), Pining, Sexual Humor, Touching, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, all the pining, dorks being dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29876007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundogsandrainbows/pseuds/sundogsandrainbows
Summary: Standing near the centered campfire, Lenya bent over, her arms stretched out to her tiptoes. Then she reached further to the muddy ground, making herself even longer. It had been a long day and even a longer march. After their involuntary stay in the Wilds for days they had to make up for lost time now. So it was no wonder if she was tired, maybe even sore.Lenya is in a painful predicament. Perhaps Alistair can help her out? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ °) Part of myOf Elves And Humans: Reduxlongfic (or it will be, anyhow) but can be read on its own. Now with 100% more pining.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Mahariel (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: Lenyaverse: Sidestories [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/824103
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Tension

**Author's Note:**

> I normally don’t do this, meaning writing one-shots instead of working on my longfic and one shots that are basically a later part of my long-fic as such. But ever since I pinched a nerve in my shoulder during my usual at home strength training routine (Sydney Cummings is the best, y’all, check her out on Youtube) and curled up in bed in pain soon after, I had this idea plaguing my mind. Hence I am now using my pain and (former) aching shoulder experience to inherit it to Lenya and for lots of pining/ust on Alistair’s side. It is also a good good exercise to get back into my writing groove after it was lost for waaaaay too long. 
> 
> Since this (long looong) scene will make an appearance in [Of Elves And Humans: Redux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/235540/chapters/360987) in some form later on, it is written under the assumption that you are familiar with that work. However, I also added enough exposition in places (where I normally would cut/left it out) so that “newcomer” can read it as a standalone fic, too. It could be a bit spoilery of Things To Come™ for people who do/did read my longfic tho, haha. Enjoy???

_**I am an island  
You are the ocean  
We're so close  
We're touching  
Completely surrounded  
But I cannot have you  
The way, that I want to ** _

_\--[Svrcina - Island](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f41dgqET2uY) _

Maker, it was _cold_. Not that was any news in Ferelden, of course. While winter had started to coalesce into a slightly milder spring, the nights remained chilling. Especially when standing in camp bare-chested.

“Hold still!” Alistair did as he was told and exhaled to keep himself from fidgeting. His breath rose in small white puffs into the clear, starry firmament. Wynne’s hands were warm in contrast to the chill, mellowed by age. She was working with a precision on fixing the bandage around his torso that spoke of her experience as healer. The worst of his injuries had been treated through her magic, of course, and the rest would mend with time and patience. Neither of which he had in spades, fighting a Blight. And the new skin _itched_ , ugh. Maybe he could just slightly– “Alistair!” Uh, oh. Busted. “If you open that wound up, I'm not going to heal it again. You can just treat it yourself!” There it was, Wynne in full lecture mode and he had no one to blame but himself. “And if it festers, weeping bloody pus and burns like the flames of Andraste's pyre, don't come to me. All I'm going to say is: "Alistair, didn't I tell you not to touch it?"”

“You know, a simple ‘don’t touch it’ would had sufficed too.”

“I already did, days ago. Several times.”

Whoops. “Yes. Well. Sorry. I appreciate your aid very much, Wynne. Without it I– …”His mouth plopped shut after words failed him. Probably for the better, after declaring his undying love for the mage, mistaking her for… _someone_ _else_ a few days prior. These blasted herbs dulled his pain well yes, but maybe too well as strong as they were. Damn. Talk about awkward.

Wynne clicked her tongue. “Perhaps I should also have added a ‘don’t fight a giant dragon in the Wilds’ to my repertoire of warnings?”

“That… yeah. Would have been oddly specific, though. Also that is on… Lenya.” They could have taken the tome from Flemeth and walked away with Morrigan being none the wiser, but nooo. She had to find her conscience in the worst possible moment and refuse the offer. Well as incomprehensible as it was, the witch was her friend and Lenya hated lies… so her decision wasn’t exactly a surprise, come to think of it. While she made her own rules or molded existing ones to her liking, there were a couple she held onto with fierce conviction. And ‘don’t betray your friends’ was a rather large, important one of hers, so yeah… – fighting against Flemeth shape-shifted form of a giant dragon it was instead. Inclusive near death experience for him. Oh well. What you not all going to do for the woman you – what was she doing there?

Standing near the centered campfire, Lenya bent over, her arms stretched out to her tiptoes. Then she reached further to the muddy ground, making herself even longer. It had been a long day and even a longer march. After their involuntary stay in the Wilds for days they had to make up for lost time now. So it was no wonder if she was tired, maybe even sore. Alas, no matter how quickly she turned and twisted away, a certain wet dog nose always found its way through the fan of long,blond hair, placing equally wet slobbers onto her face. Revas’ canine way of sharing affection – while currently unwanted – was so effortless, unlike his own bumbling attempts to maybe endear her to himself after all. Not to mention his drug-induced declarations of love. Maker, where was the lightening strike when –

“You are looking at her again…” Wynne informed him in a way, waaaay too amused sing-song. Not grandmotherly at all.

“She is… our leader. I look at her, um, for guidance?” It was hard to suppress the wince as soon these stupid words were vocalized, though somehow he managed it. The elder mage basked in his awkwardness and used it for further teasing, of course. Great.

“And what guidance did you find in these slender hips of hers?” Maker, her grin at that was all but subtle, though she probably didn’t even tried to be.

“No no no,” Alistair rushed to say, his tongue nearly stumbling in its haste to deny. “I wasn't looking at …you know, her... _hind-quarters._ ”

“Certainly.” A single word and chuckle of her was all that was needed for heat to rise into his cheeks. It had been a lie, of course. Initial curiosity drove his gaze toward her, yet his eyes had lingered too long as she, well, stretched so very _extensively_. Busted, once more.

“I gazed...glanced, in that direction, maybe,” he admitted, “...but I wasn't staring...or really seeing anything even.”

He caught the tail end of her crooked smirk at that. “Oh, of course.” This woman was no healer, but pure evil finding way too much pleasure in torturing him. ”I noticed she is quite flexible. Ah, to be this young agai –“

“Stop. Please.” Alistair hid his face behind his palm with a groan. Pretty futile attempt to mask his embarrassment, maybe, yet a far more subdued, better choice than to run away, covering his ears like a little boy. Given Lenya’s better elven hearing, running away was still an option to consider, though. Who knew what she had heard just now? Thankfully, she still seemed preoccupied with whatever it was she was doing there. Stretching, yes. And nope, not looking or falling for that _twice_. “Look,” He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry for what happened in the hut. We both know I wasn’t in my right mind back then.” Here was hoping Morrigan wasn’t listening either or else she’d use his sentence as an opportunity to insult his intelligence for the umpteenth time.

“Aww, and there I was, feeling flattered.” Wynne’s mischievous look mellowed into something more understanding. A hint of pity perhaps too. Which was worse, somehow. “I would tell you it will remain our secret, dear Alistair, but I fear your, ahem, _leader_ already –“

“Yes. Yes. It is cold. Are we done?” he interrupted her with more harshness than intended as he reached for his tunic. Everyone knew about his feelings for her. Even Lenya herself, despite his best efforts to keep them stowed away, in order to focus on the task at hand, the Blight. Everything was already complicated enough without falling for his fellow Warden, who happened to be Dalish, at that. And star-crossed lovers they were not, nor would ever be, Leliana’s starry-eyed fables and mortifying ballads notwithstanding. Not to mention all her stupid songs about longing and unrequited love lately in camp. Almost as if she performed those on purpose if he didn’t kne– never mind. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –“

“It is quite alright, my dear. I know the topic is a sore spot for you,” Wynne amended, her smile soft. “I have been in your situation many times before. It is not easy and painful, even. But it will pass, as everything in life does. Just you wait.”

He swallowed the quip about Wynne not being one of two surviving Wardens tasked with saving Thedas, no pressure. Since her words were well-intended and meant as a comfort and yet were so preposterous, because exactly the opposite seemed to happen. Each time when he’d become comfortable with being friends with Lenya – as this was also wonderful and hard-won a deed – a small something -- a word or gesture by her -- pulled him back undertow into the sea of _want_ and _more_. Like a thunderous ocean crashing against the static island he was, never-changing in his adoration for her, even if it meant drowning in it. Bidding Wynne farewell with a nod, he shook himself. Maker, Leliana’s sappy songs were getting to him.

And like the glutton for punishment he was, Alistair walked over to where she sat, hunched over as though drawn to the warmth of the flames as he was to her.

“Hey…” was all he managed, ducking to seek out her face now hidden by her hood and the surrounding shadows. “What are you doing, Nel?”

Her expression twisted before settling for a simple sigh instead. Ah. No roll of her eyes then, like she did so often when he asked something stupid or obvious. “Warming up stones in the fire.”

“Ah.” His boots squelched in the molten snow turned mud as he sat down on the log placed next to her. If only things could be less awkward, or rather he be less painfully bumbling in her presence. Easier said than done after what happened a few days ago. Lenya however, was good in ignoring it all, almost insultingly so. Then again, she’d accepted him back as a comrade and friend with more grace he deserved after the Fade and his ill-fated confession. The one made long before yelling it out into the Korcari Wilds over and over again, that was. Ugh. “Are… you okay?” he added, as the pause between them stretched. Her posture was askew like her armor was: Half-removed on one side as she was nursing one shoulder over the other. Not exactly a comfortable position and way to sit.

“Just peachy, sure.” Her non-answers and flippancy did not make it any easier to clear the awkwardness between them. They belonged to Lenya like her razor-sharp wit, dry humor and cursing, though. Her hood fell into her neck as she looked up at him. The firelight reflected in her eyes, as bright as the stars above. Even dirtied and weary from the road, she was beautiful – always had been. The pang of this unsurprising revelation punched the air out of him for the briefest of moments. He got good by now to not get lost or indulge in his feelings too much, to keep them at bay. Most of the time, anyhow. Yet sometimes the awareness of it all still hit him like a shield to the face, as it did now. He cleared his throat, missing the first few words said by her through it.

“Sorry, I missed that,” he confessed while she looked at him, waiting for a reply.

Lenya huffed out her annoyance, which faded with her breath into the blackened sky. “I asked how you are feeling, dummy.” Unlike with the damn witch, the word wasn’t an insult as it lacked any hard edge. “Seeing how Wynne needed to patch you up anew?”

“Ah. Yeah. Well, it is simply a precaution, don’t worry. The wound is healing fast and nicely. The new skin itches underneath the bandage, though I’m too afraid to scratch after Wynne –“

“Yeah, I heard that,” she cut into his words with the ghost of a smirk. Oh. Oh, no. Not taking this bait, thank you very much. It was a subtle one, admittedly, as she used to be with her expressions and gestures, unlike with her words and actions. This wasn’t the only contradiction marking her personality, of course. She was an intricate woman, aloof and walled off in biting hostility to everyone who didn’t make the effort to look past it. It kept people at arms length, a shield like sarcasm was for him. But instead to drive him away, it drew him in to her, fascinated by her contrasts ever since meeting her in Ostagar, several felt lifetimes ago. The shift of her becoming his focal point had been as fluent and natural as breathing, yet sneaking up at him like a thief in the night. First she was simply the other survivor of a tragedy orchestrated by _that_ bloody traitor. Then his only fellow Warden at which side he fought, coalescing eventually and slowly into… _friend_. The need to protect and keep her safe grew steadily from there, fanned by the wealth of warmth found beneath her brisk veneer. It became his comfort against the daily struggle of battle and survival. Her presence was a flame in the darkness against the desperation and loneliness clawing at him after losing Duncan… and the others. And as long he could stay at her side, all the struggle was worth it. Unfortunately not in the capacity he wished for, yet to brighten her day with one of his silly jokes or to elicit a smile or even a roll of her eyes out of her made everything… easier to bear.

_I love you._

Lenya slanted her head and her eyes narrowed a bit. She couldn’t read his mind, right? He would be in deep, _deep_ trouble if she ever learned to do that, for sure. “You trailed off again,” she stated a moment later. Oh. Yeah. That. Damn, he hadn’t even given her a reply. “Having second thoughts regarding the planned return to Ostagar? I thought you wanted to?”

He jerked back at the name of the place, an ingrained instinct by now. Also a good reason to travel there, probably. To finally face his fears and get some sense of closure was long overdue. He owed it as much to Duncan, his Warden brothers and Cailan as he did it to himself. “Yes. I still want to, I think. Though I am not sure if it is punishment or a thank you for, you know, _lately_.” It was better to name the barking mabari in the room. Wynne was right, as much as Lenya had been at his side after the near-fatal battle with Flemeth, there was no chance in the void she did not hear his feverish lovesick ramblings. Maker take him and throw him in a hole.

She gave him another subtle smile, her exhale ending in a snort. Oh, how he loved _those_. “A thank you, mostly. You didn’t want to accompany me to the Wilds. For Morrigan, of all people...”

“… because it was a bad idea,” he interjected before being able to stop himself. “As the, well, giant dragon proved, then.”

“Obviously.” The corner of her mouth twitched upwards. “Believe me in the moment where Flemeth shifted and grew and grew and fucking _grew_ , I complemented a lot of my life choices.”

“Is that soooo?” Alistair drawled, far more suggestive than intended. Catching himself, he cleared his throat. The way they fell into easy banter after all this was surprising, but it did not mean he should get carried away.

“Either way, you did not want to come and yet you did help me,” she then said, merciful with his foolishness through ignorance.

But her sincerity, the softness of her voice there … Maker, it punched the air out of his lungs. About time to rearm himself and counteract with flippancy. That was easier than to linger on the possibilities what it could mean. Nope, not going there again. “Yes, because it was so helpful how I slipped on moss and almost died because Flemeth _ate_ me. Well, almost. At least it gave you the needed opportunity and moment of distraction to slay her.” His mouth made a plopping sound as he shut it, at last and once more, too late. “Oh. _Ooh_.” He grimaced. “We really killed the woman that saved us from the top of the tower, huh? And for Morrigan, of all people.”

“Noticed that already, huh?”

Alistair let out a groan, extended for theatrics. “You really need better friends, Nel.”

She huffed out a laugh which died as she tilted her head to fix his gaze. “ I will let you know, I quite _like_ the ones I have now.”

His heart skipped more than it was certainly healthy to do. This woman would kill him sooner or later. Death by kind words and a lingering look. Not the most heroic one, but hey, there were worse fates than that. Since it was her.

The blackened logs sizzled and popped in the fire, drew his attention as the silence between them extended. Its sound was as comforting against the cold as the warmth of the flames and her company were. Revas stretched with a yawn, nudging Lenya with his nose and a whine. She bent over to give his head a scritch, and winced at the movement made.

“Are you okay?” he asked at her sharp hiss released through clenched teeth. She was clearly uncomfortable yet trying to mask it.

“Nothing warmth cannot fix. I hope.” Reaching past the empty pot of stew and plates from dinner at the side of the fire, she picked up a large stick. She used it to maneuver a round, flat stone from the flames, letting it cool outside of it. Sparks sputtered as she continued to poke at the flames with the stick until the majority of it turned to ash. “Stupid muscles. Stupid shoulder,” she muttered under her breath, not meant for his ears. Ah. Noticing his gaze, she corrected her askew posture, swallowing the hiss this time in a quickly fading grimace. She had never been good in admitting physical unease, and often pushed herself way past the point of exhaustion and pain. Like she did in the battle against Flemeth, too, and many before that. Showing weakness meant losing, meant certain death. Something she could nor would not allow herself as their leader to a stubborn, frustrating amount.

“Can I –“

“I was worried, you know?” she said at the same time, overlapping and superseding his words.

“What?”

“You being hurt, dummy.” She pursed her lips in defiance, another habit of hers dangerous to his heart. “I was afraid of losing you, of being alone in… this,” she confessed, looking past him into the night. Oh. Hope was a cruel mistress, one which always returned from absence in such moments of raw honesty. And while her bluntness was well-known with her companions, it wasn’t the emotional, bare kind like now. That kind were rare slivers slipping through the cracks of layers of bravery, sass and harsh words. More precious than any sovereign too due to that, too.

“I would never…” he blurted in a whisper, catching himself in a harrumph before completing the sentence. The camp being momentarily deserted and quiet, save for Sten’s meditative chant and Revas’ doggy snores was more a curse than blessing in moments his mouth ran ahead. “I mean, I am with you, no matter what.” _That_ he meant, with all of his far too nervous, too fast beating heart in her presence.

“I know. And I really appreciate it, Alistair.” Ah. His name wasn’t anything special, yet it always transformed into something precious when said by her. Turning away with a smile, Lenya poked the stone with a finger as though testing if it was cool enough to touch. It appeared to be as she first wrapped one leather-gloved palm around it, then the other, holding it close to her chest for a moment with an appreciative hum.

“Really?” he asked, his voice dipping lower without intent. Damn, this word came too much out like… flirting. Stop. Abort, you idiot! This was a serious topic. Sort of. “Even my delirious rambling in the hut?”

“Oh… that, yeah.” She looked up at him, smiling. “Wynne did give you the good stuff for pain relief.” Her smile bloomed into a full grin. “You were as high as Andruil’s hawk, and then some. It was… kinda cute, actually.”

“Cute? _Cute_? Just what I was aiming for.” His indignation was faux and overplayed, of course. A distraction from the fluttery storm in his belly, caused by her words. Humor was good for that, its usage familiar and comfortable. “Ow, you could just... stab me in the face first before you say something like that.”

“Noted,” she deadpanned and put the stone on top of her hurting shoulder, holding it there with one hand. “Humor aside… it should not have happened. You being hurt, I mean. I’m sorry.”

“I slipped on moss during an attack, Nel. My – admittedly rare – clumsiness in battle is hardly your fault.” This was how most people died, through mistakes. A blow parried too late, a step into the wrong direction. Or a stray arrow. Circumstances. Here was hoping he would make it to the archdemon before another blunder of that magnitude, though. Optimally never again for all the distress it obviously caused her. However _that_ was a promise hard to keep with the life he – they – led, the near daily battle.

“Yes,” she agreed, biting her lower lip. Damn, small gestures like that had no right to exist, for they were far too distracting. “... needed to help Morrigan.” Great, he had missed half or more of the sentence. Focus! “But you were right, it was a bad idea to return to the Wilds.” Lenya grimaced. “And not only because I forgot that Ash’bellanar could turn into a dragon like a fucking moron. I mean, this is how she picked us up from the top of that tower, after all.”

“Yeah…” he breathed. “Lots of memories there, I suppose.” None of them good, at that.

“Bad ones, too,” she agreed as if reading his mind once more. “And now Ostagar. Not exactly better, but needed, I think. You deserve closure. Also that shem we met was quite adamant to go collect your brother’s stuff left behind there.”

Closure. Such a leaden word. Though she was not wrong with that, it _was_ important. After all, if there was no end, there could be no new beginnings. “He is… _was_ my half-brother, though, thank you very much.”

“Riiiight, because of that _human_ mother of yours. The servant who went starry-eyed for the late king. Or late, _late_ king, more like. Shem politics makes no fucking sense. All these titles and rules, ugh.”

“Yes?” What was that supposed to mean? While she was correct with her last bit, the insinuation in the former and her fixation of his mother not being his mother and elven instead, was confounding and a bit insulting. Did she need him to be not human so badly she ascribed to her belief more than the facts told to her by him? Alistair swallowed the sigh wanting to break free. Best to ignore it, for now at least. “I’m more worried about what Elric told us about Redcliffe, honestly. Attacks in the night? _That_ really does not sound good. I hope Arl Eamon is okay.”

“Arl Eamon?” Her frown shifted into a scowl. “Isn’t that the asshole who carted you off at age ten into a cloister because you became too inconvenient?”

“Yes? Though this is a little harsh, Nel. He is a good man. He took me in when he did not need to do so.”

“… only to throw you out just as quickly, not soon after. _Asshole_. Fuck him.” The insults were accentuated by animated swings of her hand, which sent the stone atop her shoulder tumbling. It plopped back into the fire, lost in a thick layer of ash. “Ah shit, fuck, piss.” Maker, he should not laugh, Particularly not because she cursed due to the pain the excessive movement inflicted on her, and less due the loss of her warmed stone. Alistair raised his hand to his mouth to hide his amusement behind it. The cursing, her foul mouth… it had been odd in the beginning, admittedly. Now though, it was part of her charm, because it was so authentically her, without any pretense. Besides her indignation was partly on his behalf and _that_ was a fact not lost on him. Her eyes narrowed at him. Uh oh. She noticed. Because of course she did. “Why are you smiling?”

“Oh nothing.” He shrugged halfheartedly, played it down. “Just happy you are so ready and willing to defend my honor, really.”

Still holding her aching shoulder, she let out a snort. “Well, you need a better family, Alistair. Yours is shit.”

 _Tell me about it!_ Life would be so much easier without the threat of royalty dangling over his head, without people treating him differently for it. With having a normal father. Or mother. Or anyone, really. Oh… she meant Eamon, didn’t she? “And who do you have in mind for that role?” he teased, adding a “You?” before able to stop himself. Curse him and that mouth of his, ugh.

“Hmm,” Lenya hummed, faking thoughtfulness in tapping her chin. “Perhaps. We are stuck with each other, after all. But I will punch you if you start to call me sister, or sister-warden. Or some other shit. Because this would be so fucking weird.”

Oh, yikes. It indeed would. “I agree. Also that we should tackle Ostagar and the Dalish treaty first before Redcliffe. As much I am worried, crisscrossing the country when we are so close-by to both of the other places already, makes no logistical sense.”

“Hmm…” She hummed, not quite in accordance, more as if lost in thoughts. “Just like both Wardens keeping watch at the same time, you mean? Yours isn’t up till much later, isn’t it?”

True. Sten had the first shift with her, and Shale was also lurking here… somewhere. “Correct. And as this is my free time, I can decide how I spend it, then, right? Here at the fire seems a good place for it.” _With you._

“Suit yourself.” Lenya huffed out a laugh, shrugged without thinking. She flinched in pain. “Aaah, damn, this fucking shoulder… is killing me tonight. So sore.”

There it was her admission of pain, such a rare one. “Can I help?”

One eyebrow rose high, creasing the lines of her forehead tattoo. The corner of her mouth followed the eyebrow’s path upwards. “I dunno. Can you?”

Oh boy. Oh dearest Andraste. May her flames engulf him too. And given how his cheeks burned all the sudden, they might as well had. It was a question posed as a challenge and the smart thing would be to back down and excuse himself. Unfortunately, he wasn’t exactly known for picking the smart option. “I mean I also get these cricks in my neck or shoulder, since you know, my shield is not the lightest to carry.”

“Yeah… it is no surprise you have such big, strong arms, then.”

Oh, Maker. Alistair coughed into his hand. Had she indeed so little awareness of what havoc her words wrecked with him? Or too much and she was utilizing them to her advantag… no. Lenya was simply Lenya, with little sense or use for filtering her words. She was just herself whenever she was with him, which was… _wow_. A whole other rabbit hole of implications and possibilities he refused to go down, too. Fact was, however, she was comfortable with him. Enough to show no pretense and her weaknesses, at that. “Stretching as you did helps but –“

“Why yes. I’m very flexible, or so I _heard_.”

The whimper escaping him at that was all but manly. Lenya clicked her tongue, though her smirk betrayed that notion of annoyance. “You keep forgetting I have excellent hearing, actually. Amusing.”

“I did not look at –“ His mouth plopped shut, eyes widening. Was running away still an option?

“I’m just fucking with you, relax.” She was full on laughing now, such a sweet sound. “You make it too easy, though.”

“You are... an evil, evil woman, you know that?”

“Yes.” She beamed at him. “And you love me for it. Or so I _heard_.”

Holy Maker and his bum. He ran right into this one. Again, she was not wrong. But for her to say it out loud? Damn. “So… do you want my help or not?” Why was he getting back to that when she had given him an out? He must have been barking mad. Or simply incapable of denying her any request. Both seemed likely, though.

“Yes.” Standing up, she sat back down on the log, right in front of him. She brushed her loose hair aside, baring her shoulder to him. “Show me.”

What? What?! Was this real and he not dreaming? And how did words work again? He licked his lips but they remained as dry as his mouth. Her sudden proximity was a near shock to his body, and the heart beating in his ears all too deafening.

“I tried stretching, as you _saw_ ,” she picked up on his silence, filling it. “And warmth. Nothing helped. I know that if I knead that point where neck and shoulder connect it gets momentarily better. I cannot get enough pressure into my grip, though. Not on my own shoulder, at least. So… help?”

Not a dream and yet everything was a haze, somehow. The deep, stabilizing inhale taken had been a mistake too. Woodsmoke, dirt and sweat. Such a combination should not be alluring, yet on her… it was. “Okay…” He reached up to her, but as if stung, he let his hand fall to his side again. Too loud, too fast. The ground was spinning around him. He closed his eyes to steady himself. “I don’t know how, though.”

She shrugged with her healthy shoulder. “That’s okay. I will ask Zevran when he is relieving me from wat –“

“No!” That damn assassin would certainly rush to relieve her of way more than just the watch duty. No way. “I mean… I can try.” Holding his breath, Alistair reached out to her in honest. His hand was embarrassingly large in contrast to her shoulder. She wasn’t scrawny of course, never had been. But through months of constant battle and steady mock-fighting and exercise in camp, she had built up a quite ample amount of wiry muscles on top of that. In fact, she had honed her body to a weapon, was capable and deathly. Which… _yeah_ , all good reasons combined why it was good she could not read his mind.

Theoretically, the pain she spoke off wasn’t unfamiliar to him, as already expressed to her. Practically however, it meant skin on skin contact with her, since he stupidly had forgotten his gloves in the other corner of camp. “It is just a shoulder, Alistair. It won’t bite you.” She paused, adding a snort. “ _I_ will though if you don’t start soon.”

Maker, she was still teasing him. No mercy at all. Why did she want him to touch her, of all people? What did this mean, beyond – “Right.” His heart threatened to jump out through his throat as he cupped his palm around her bare shoulder. Oh. _Oh_. Her skin was soft unlike her muscular shoulder; yet another contrast discovered. His shaky exhale met the back of her pointy ear, tickled it into a small wiggle. So cute. Leaning in, he could kiss – Focus! Digging his thumb and pointing finger into the points of her shoulder where hopefully the pain resided – he tentatively squeezed it.

“Ah.” Lenya jolted upright at the pressure. Startled, he yanked his hand away like burned.

“Sorry, did I hurt you? I’m not good in this.” He was very, very warm, though. Sweating, even.

“No. It was… alright, really. You found the spot… just add pressure, please. I can take it. I’m no fucking dainty flower, Alistair.“ The defined curves and hard ridges of her shoulder made _this_ very, very obvious.

“Got it.” As if he could deny her anything, hah. So he repeated the same procedure, only with more pressure, like she wished. And Instead of jolting, Lenya’s whole posture crumbled. She practically sagged into his touch with a drawn out, very vocal hum. Oh, this was bad, very bad. He scooted a bit away from her. The sudden distance became necessary in order to not embarrass himself. Or more so, anyhow. Somehow he found his voice, though, without any grasp on as to _how_. “…Good?”

“Hmmm,” Lenya hummed again, and every vibrating, relaxed syllable went straight to his groin. This was how he would die. She would finish what Flemeth had started but not achieved days ago. Maker. “You know when you sit down in near-scalding hot ass-water and all the tension bunched in your muscles dissipates, all at once?”

Alistair swallowed thickly. Pinching his eyes with his fingers shut did help little to banish this very vivid picture she had conjured up in him. “Yes?”

“Like that. One on a bit smaller scale, perhaps, but _good_. Yes. Continue.”

C-continue? Like, several times? Oh. Damn. Her candidness never failed to leave him at a loss for words. “Oh, so bossy, are we?” Or maybe not, this time. Huh. He chuckled despite or due to the situation he found himself in, and mimicked her voice in a higher pitch. “Fight the dragon, Alistair. Fetch the tome for Morrigan, Alistair. My shoulder hurt, Alistair. Orders, aaaall the time. So _demanding_.”

Her other elbow darted backwards, connecting with his side not as pointedly as she intended, though. Thankfully. “Well,” she drawled, a chuckle slipping into her voice as well. “You seem to like that, or else you would have been the one taking the lead long ago, right?”

As much he choked on air, it was as though her elbow hit home a second time and much harder, at that. Busted, yet again. “That’s not so bad, isn’t it?” D-did… he truly just ask her that? Perhaps his arousal made him more short-fused, or her bluntness was simply contiguous. Either way, baaaad.

“Nope.” The smirk was included, near audible in her exhale. “Now, continue.” He obeyed, without any back talk or objection this time. Because how could he not follow suit? She was their – his – leader, after all. The next exhale she made at his touch wasn’t a hum, but a pleasant _moan_. Its sound stopped him dead in his tracks, unable to sort it in at first. Then, she did it again, a bit quieter as she melted and leaned into him with every knead of his fingers. Slowly he was working out the painful knot in her shoulder, never taking his eyes off her. Oh, she had never been like that. Soft. Pliant. Letting her guard down this much due to his touch alone. That was.., _wow_. Would she be like this in, ahem, _other_ situations, too? Under his hands, under _him_ , writhing and moaning? Oh crap, his mind should _not_ go there, and yet it was so hard, yes _hard_ not to indulge. Biting his lip, he stopped his motions to regain his bearings. Easier said than done when the thrum of the heartbeat in his ears was as heavy as his breath, only rivaled by, _well_. That was a problem. He would have to remain sitting here all night and pray for a lightening strike to absolve him, as all frigid water there was would not dispel this painfully har–

“Ah. You both remained dressed, after all. Such a pity.” No, no, _no_. Not him. Everyone but him. “With such a level of enthusiastic vocalization, my dear Warden, I confess I expected to find a far more racier scene taking place here.“ Alistair’s head sank into his hands with a whimper. Please go away. Of course the damn assassin didn’t, and instead turned his attention and eyes toward him. “But it appeared you enjoyed yourselves either way. How wonderful. If some…” He gave Alistair a pointed, amused up and down look that made him ready to sink into a landfill, never to return. “… _more_ than others.”

“Oh,” Lenya breathed, pulling her clothes back in place. She was mercifully oblivious to his predicament, nor paid heed to the elf’s insinuations. Small mercies. “Is it your shift already?”

Zevran winked at her. “Hard to sleep through all that enthusiasm, more like. Do pray tell, what caused it?”

“Is the Painted Warden broken, for It to shriek like that? “And now also Shale approached. Great. Just perfect.

“Quite the opposite I would say, my stony friend.” Zevran chuckled. “But I did ponder on the question you posed to me in the Wilds, while I lay awake in my tent just now.”

“Fascinating,” the golem replied dryly. “I long to know what is going on in its tiny crow head, indeed. ...So I can crush it.”

“Tsk, no need for violence, my dear friend. As you will be pleased to know that I would very much become a golem, given the chance.”

“Oh? Its answer is surprisingly sound. Has it finally understood that being a golem is the superior life-form?”

“Ah, not exactly.” He clicked his tongue and ever so slightly and too slyly fixed Alistair’s gaze, despite all his attempts to hide behind Lenya’s back. Or turn himself into ash in the campfire. “But it would be fun to be _hard_ _as a rock_ all the time, no?”

Nope, nope, nope. He was done and out. The time to leave had been long overdue, in fact. And if needed, he would run away while covering his ears and screaming like a boy. Or girl. Whatever. “I… have to go. Very tired and all that yawn. Ahem.”

“Certainly.” Under Zevran’s ringing laughter, Alistair spun around and fled – as quickly as possible his... current condition allowed – toward his tent. Without screaming, at least, though this had been the most graceful part of it all, for sure.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, a good massage is to be appreciated, after all. Seems our boy Alistair has a hidden talent ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) or maybe Lenya is easily impressed (hah, as if) Heh. Either way, this fic ran away with me. Oh boy. It was supposed to be a shorter one, to get back into things. Hah, as if i could write short things, ever. Anyway, thank you everyone for reading this, i hope you liked it. Perhaps let me know in the comments if you did? It would be very much appreciated <3
> 
> As for my longfic readers... I would love to say i am ready to dive back into my regular chapter writing, but alas (or there is another brainworm of a racier kind, as Zevran would say, i need to get rid off first before i can do that. But hey, yay for (upcoming) smut, at least????


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